Unexpected Reunion
by AZGirl
Summary: He had absolutely no idea how to sum up the previous 20 years to a friend he hadn't seen in just as long. Part of the Immortals AU, but can be read separately.
1. Robin Ellacott

**Disclaimer** : Neither The Musketeers nor the Cormoran Strike mystery books are mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

 **Spoilers** : Hints about things that occur in other Immortals AU stories, but no direct spoilers for those stories. The book, _The Cuckoo's Calling,_ by Robert Galbraith* but not who the culprit is.

 **A/N** : This story is an AU version of the first two chapters of part one of the novel, _The Cuckoo's Calling_ , set in my Immortals AU. All you need to know about the AU for this one is that Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan can die, but they resurrect, and are basically immortal. Throughout their long lives, they've had to assume many identities. More will be explained as you read.

 **Story/History Notes** **:** These are denoted by an * and explained at the end. At times I did change historical or book-related facts to fit my story, but for these notes, I have made every attempt to get my details correct. If I have incorrectly noted something, please let me know and I will make changes.

I hope you give this story a chance despite its odd concept; I had a lot of fun writing it and hope you enjoy reading it.

 **ooooooo**

 _I cannot rest from travel: I will drink  
Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd  
Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those  
That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when  
Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades  
Vext the dim sea: I am become a name… _

~~~~~~~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses" * _  
_

**ooooooo**

 **Chapter One: March 2010* – Robin Ellacott**

Though Robin Ellacott's many years of life had seen their moments of drama and incident, he had only rarely woken up in the certain knowledge that he would remember the coming day as long as he lived.

He'd awakened from a dream turned nightmare of the day he knew he would soon be marrying the love of his life. That conversation between him and his love, with his brothers nearby watching, and likely overhearing every word, had left him feeling happier than his paltry words could ever express. Despite being so recently in danger of dying, it had been in his view, one of the most perfect days of his impossibly long life.

At that point in time, he had simply been a Musketeer in love with a woman who was brave, generous, kind, and shined so brightly in his eyes that it left every other woman in shadow. At that point in time, he thought they had their whole lives to be together and believed they would never again be separated. And at that time, the Incident in that lonely part of France had not yet happened; he had not yet been changed by circumstances beyond his control.

Time had marched on anyway and proved everything he had once thought had been wrong. The dream had started with the promise of his marriage happening one day soon and had become the nightmare of his greatest love being taken from him by illness, forever separating them.

Unable to get back to sleep, he'd gone for a walk around the city. Shortly after midnight, he'd gone past the statue of Eros* in the middle of Piccadilly Circus and witnessed a man going down on one knee to propose to a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair. The look of surprise and giddiness on her face told Robin what her answer would likely be. He'd sped up so he wouldn't have to observe the moment the woman accepted the proposal. He couldn't believe that after his recent dream that Fate, God, or whoever would be so cruel as to have him stumbling upon someone else's happiest moment, when he still missed his wife with every fiber of his being.

That couple would have a story to pass down to their children, something he never had due to what had happened to him and his friends. He'd already had no more close family than his wife and his brothers of the heart; because of the Incident, he would never have any children.

Eventually, he returned to his flat for a couple of hours of sleep, and was now picking his way through the roadworks at the top of Oxford Street. This was to be his first day of a week-long secretarial-type assignment. When he'd updated the personal details of his current persona, he'd not known what he'd wanted to do with his current life, so he'd taken a job at a place called Temporary Solutions, hoping to hit upon something he would enjoy doing for a while.

He had some upcoming interviews for some more permanent jobs lined up, but for the time being was content to continue doing the temp work. When he'd signed up with Temporary Solutions, he'd quickly learned that the ratio of male to female assistants was quite low. The majority of his male employers tended to assume he was something he was not, and the eyes of most of his female employers tended to linger on certain parts of his anatomy a little too long. He'd taken it all in stride and enjoyed the variety of jobs and work environments.

The worst part of these piecemeal jobs was finding the offices he was to work in. He'd been in London many times throughout his nearly 400 years of existence and was quite familiar with much of the city. However, over time, some areas of London had become an almost insane maze of streets, and even he needed directions to find some places or risk getting lost.

The barricades surrounding the roadworks made it all the more difficult to see where he needed to go. He consulted the hand-drawn map he'd been given at the temping agency and continued past Center Point, making his way towards what he hoped was Denmark Street. He found it almost by accident after going through a narrow alleyway and past more construction.

D'Artagnan consulted his timepiece, a gold pocket watch his brothers had given him nearly 100 years ago for his birthday. He remembered that day with great fondness, which only served to remind him of how alone in the world he currently was.

Back then, they'd all been together, living in the same city, seeing each other regularly. The years when he had at least one of his brothers close by was much more preferable to the ones where he was forced to endure his immortal life on his own.

More often than not, he chose to reside wherever Athos settled down. He loved all of his brothers very much, but just seemed to get along with Athos the best, and generally preferred the older man's company over that of Aramis and Porthos. It wasn't unusual for the four of them to split into two pairs like that, each set going off to live their current lives separate from the others. Porthos and Aramis each also tended to go separately off on their own just as often, while he and Athos preferred to remain in each other's lives in some way, happy to have a brother close by.

Whether it was similar temperaments, the ability to understand how the major losses of loved ones could affect a life, or something else, d'Artagnan just seemed to find comfort in the fact that his big brother had a part in whatever identity he was living under at the time.

However, that had all changed nearly twenty years ago.

D'Artagnan hadn't made the pilgrimage in a while, but twenty years ago, he had felt the need to visit his wife's grave. For once, Athos had not gone with him.

Usually, but not always, Athos made it a point to keep him company whenever he made the journey to the cemetery he and his friends had moved his beloved wife's remains to after King Louis XVI had decreed that all of Paris' cemeteries were to be emptied* back in 1785. He had been devastated by Constance's death, the grief making him so desolate that he forgot himself, and had become a person he no longer recognized. It was only the strength of his brothers' love for him that had brought him back from the precipice.

In the time following his wife's death, d'Artagnan had spent far too long wallowing in all-consuming grief, where he hadn't cared about much of anything but the fact that his love was gone and that, because of his immortality, he would never be with her again in death or whatever lay beyond it. After he'd come back to himself, one of his brothers would accompany him to the cemetery, to be there in case he fell into inconsolable grief once more.

As the years had continued marching ever onward, it was Athos who more often than not had joined him on his visits to his beloved's grave. His best friend seemed to be able to sense when he needed someone to accompany him; it seemed like Athos knew when his ever-present grief would flare up into something that could overwhelm him. Yet, nearly twenty years ago, Athos had not gone with him; it had ended up being something he would regret for a long time to come.

ooooooo

He had been on his way back to the hotel from the cemetery when he'd seen _her_.

The young woman looked so much like Constance, it was uncanny. She was almost the spitting image of the woman he had kissed the first time that they'd met.

Walking in the opposite direction from him, she was with someone who was presumably her father, given the similarities of their faces. He couldn't help but stare at her, and then after a moment's pause, couldn't help but discretely follow along after the two of them.

When father and daughter had gone through the cemetery's gates and eventually stopped at Constance's grave, the air had rushed out of his lungs like a popped balloon. Somehow, he'd had the presence of mind to go stand in front of another, nearby grave, pretending to pay his respects. It was something that was not too far off the mark. Over the years, the grave markers of those interred nearby had become as familiar to him as the one for his wife.

He had been close enough to overhear their conversation; when the young woman had begun to gleefully rejoice over the fact that she had finally found the grave of her 12 times great aunt, the one that had married a Musketeer, he suddenly forgot how to breathe. What he did or where he went after hearing those words, after standing so close to Constance's look-alike, his family by long-ago and too-distant marriage, he did not know.

However, by the time he came back to himself in a steep ditch with his neck and right leg fiercely aching in a particular yet recognizable way, he knew that whatever he'd done or had happened to him, had resulted in him dying. The realization that his most recent death and resurrection had yet again kept him from reuniting with his beloved had nearly dragged him under once more.

With great effort, he managed to haul himself out of the ditch and walked back towards his hotel, stinking of too much alcohol – and worse – and not knowing how much time had passed.

Luckily, his habit of paying a week in advance at the hotel had paid off. He still had a room to go to, though from the inquiries into his health, he knew he must look like death warmed over – which wasn't very far from the truth.

When he was being issued a new room key, d'Artagnan learned from the girl at the front desk that he'd been gone for four days. He managed to come up with the story that he had run into old friends and had ended up partying way too hard with them. Upon returning to his room, the first thing he'd done was head towards the phone to dial Athos's number, desperately needing to hear the older man's voice. Yet, there was no answer.

He took a desperately needed shower, and immediately tried calling again after he got out. Still, there was no answer.

He sent what items of clothing that could be reasonably salvaged out to be cleaned, and tried one more time to get hold of Athos. His friend continued to remain unreachable.

There were several reasons that he could think of why Athos would not be home to answer his phone, resolving to wait and try again later that evening.

After a resurrection, he and his brothers generally needed a few good meals and some sleep before feeling completely back to their old selves. When he'd awakened hours later, he had only delayed redialing Athos's number long enough to relieve his bladder.

It only briefly occurred to him to call his other two brothers, but they were off on some grand adventure; he didn't have the first clue how to get in contact with them. Besides, he felt only Athos truly understood just how paralyzed he could become with loss and grief. Too many times over the years they had helped each other through bouts of overwhelming depression for him to want to hear from anyone else but Athos at the moment.

It was late in the evening, so he was reasonably certain Athos would be home to answer the phone, especially since it had been four days since they had last spoken to each other. And yet, when he called the number he knew by heart, the phone continued to ring and ring. Athos didn't believe in answering machines, so there was not even a recording of the man's voice to help in restoring his equilibrium. Given the hour, there should have been a grumpy and annoyed, yet polite-sounding voice on the other end of the line; instead, there was only the sound of one phone trying and failing to connect to another.

Worry for his best friend set in. He paced his room, feeling off-kilter not only from his recent encounter and subsequent blackout, but from the idea creeping into his mind that something had happened to Athos; something which prevented the man from being able to get in contact with him. He called the front desk, asking if there had been any messages for him, but there had been nothing.

It wasn't until the next morning sometime after his fiftieth attempt to get in touch with Athos that a new, obvious possibility occurred to him. What if, after not being able to reach him for several days, that Athos had decided to come find him?

With that thought in mind, he was able to relax slightly, though his gut was telling him something was still wrong with that idea. He resolved to remain in the hotel for the day and wait for Athos to arrive, hoping the older man would get there sooner rather than later.

A day later and Athos had yet to show up at the hotel.

His worry for Athos ratcheted back up to previous levels, though he managed to keep his head for the moment. He called around the city to the other hotels he's stayed at in the past, just in case his friend had misremembered which one he had chosen, but he had absolutely no luck.

No one matching Athos's current description or alias had checked into one of the possible hotels in the past 24 hours. He knew that no matter the mode of transportation, it wouldn't take the older man so long to get to him. Only going by sea would it take more than 24 hours, and Athos would never choose that mode of travel in the case of an emergency, no matter how much he despised flying in airplanes.

Something had to have happened to Athos; something that might have killed him, necessitating a resurrection and subsequent change of identities. Yet, how would such an occurrence prevent Athos from getting in contact with him?

Unless...unless Athos had come back to life in the presence of witnesses – perhaps even the wrong kind of witnesses.

Unnerved by the new theory, he rushed to pack his belongings and check out of his hotel. He couldn't get an immediate flight out, so he'd been forced to take the train instead. It was when he was on his way to the dining car, that the train suddenly lurched and his world turned topsy-turvy.

When d'Artagnan awoke, it was to the certainty that he had just resurrected. If the blood saturating his pants leg was any indication, then he'd severed his femoral artery and had bled out. He felt weak from the lingering blood loss, plus his breathing was currently being compromised by the smoke from the fire rapidly heading in his direction.

He managed to pull himself together enough to scramble out of the train wreckage without anyone seeing him, though he had encountered several people that were beyond his help when he tried to get to them. Due to the severity of the wreck and the accompanying fire, he knew his current life was irrevocably over. It would be necessary for him to adopt a new alias and figure out what he wanted to do with his new life.

However, his first priority was to find out what had happened to Athos and where in the world the man currently was.

But he never did find his best friend.

There had been no trace of the man anywhere; no clues to where Athos had gone or what new name the man might be living under.

His brother had vanished, and being unable to get in touch with Aramis or Porthos, d'Artagnan was resigned to the fact that he would be living his new life alone, hoping that someday he would find one of his brothers.

ooooooo

In the aftermath of that train wreck, where only a young woman in the very last train car had survived, Robin Ellacott had been born.

At the time, there had not been much choice in terms of possible names; he had gotten used to people assuming he would be a female before they came face-to-face.

He had moved England, taking up residence in the city of Masham, part of Yorkshire county. It was there that he had begun a quiet life as a bookkeeper.

Over and over and over again, he tried finding his friends, but he'd had no luck for the past ten years, even after repeatedly making use of their agreed-upon emergency signal – a predetermined personal ad in all the major newspapers. After not getting a response yet again, and with no other leads, he finally made the decision to give up for a while, feeling utterly abandoned by his brothers, yet missing them with every fiber of his being.

Eventually, he grew tired of Yorkshire, and once more craving big city life, he moved to London.

With a slight adjustment to his identification documents, he remained Robin Ellacott. It was growing more and more difficult to get new, clean identities; he saw no reason to waste this one, despite the female-sounding first name. He was also holding onto the likely ridiculous notion that if he didn't change his name, then he would be easier to find – assuming any of his brothers were looking for him.

He'd been in London a month now.

ooooooo

Shaking his head to dislodge the memories the timepiece had brought to the fore, he checked and found he was ten minutes early to his new temp job.

Nondescript and painted black, the doorway stood to the left of the 12 Bar Café. The name of the occupant was scrawled on a piece of paper taped beside the buzzer for the second floor. Not feeling like standing around for the next ten minutes amongst the noise of the roadwork being done, he decided to go up early.

He had just reached for the bell when the door flew open from the inside, and a woman burst out onto the street. For one moment, they looked directly into each other's eyes, as they braced for the imminent collision.

However, his reflexes, having always been quick, helped him to barely dodge the woman. That split-second view of the pale-faced woman had left him with the chilling impression that Milady had decided to come back to haunt his lonely existence.

The dark-haired woman hurried off down the street and out of sight, her expression – lined, yet strangely exhilarated – lingered with him as he caught the door before it closed. Banishing the memories that rushed to mind with the sight of the woman who reminded him so strongly of someone who had died so long ago, he made his way up the old-fashioned metal staircase which spiraled up around the lift.

At the first landing, he passed a door with a sign saying _Crowdy Graphics_ and continued climbing. It was only when he reached the door on the floor above that Robin realized what kind of business he'd been sent to assist.

The agency hadn't specified and neither had the name written beside the outside buzzer. On the glass door panel was engraved: _C.B. Strike, Private Detective_.

The words caused him to still. It had been many years since he'd had anything to do with law enforcement or any of its associated professions. In this current life, he hadn't even considered the possibility of helping people beyond filling a gap when needed as a temp worker.

Seeing the words _private detective_ stirred something within him, and suddenly he was much more enthusiastic to start this temp job. Perhaps, if he got along with this C.B. Strike well enough, he might try to convince them to keep him on permanently – or as permanently as his current life would permit. His skills in this area may be a bit rusty, but he learned quickly and was confident he could become an asset if only his temporary employer would let him.

Savoring the moment of new-found purpose, he approached the door slowly. As he stretched out his left hand towards the handle, but before he touched it, the glass door flew open.

This time, there was no near-miss.

An unseeing, disheveled male about his height slammed into him; Robin was knocked backwards, backpack flying, arms windmilling towards the void beyond the staircase.

ooooooo

 _To be concluded…_

Next time: Chapter Two: March 2010 - Cormoran Strike

 **ooooooo**

 **Story/History Notes** **:**

 _ **The Cuckoo's Calling,**_ _ **by Robert Galbraith**_ **:** The first of three (so far) mystery novels written by J.K. Rowling under the pseudonym, Robert Galbraith. I started reading them after I found out that Tom Burke, portrayer of Athos in The Musketeers TV series, was chosen to play the main character in the film adaptations of the books. Because several scenes in the books strongly reminded me of Athos (e.g. Chapter 2 of Book 1), the idea of writing an Immortals AU story with Athos as Strike crossed my mind after I finished the third book. Because certain aspects of my AU and the books don't quite mesh, I had to tweak a few things. I also very liberally borrowed from the first two chapters of part one, which was necessary in order to write this story.

 _ **Alfred Lord Tennyson, "Ulysses"**_ **:** "Ulysses" is a poem in blank verse by the Victorian poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson, written in 1833 and published in 1842. The part quoted is from the second stanza. They are the last words of _The Cuckoo's Calling_ and thought they were appropriate on more than one level.

 _ **March 2010**_ **:** Book two, _The Silkworm_ , mentions the engagement of Prince William and Kate Middleton, which was announced on 16 November 2010. Chapter 1 of Part 1 of _The Cuckoo's Calling_ states that it's March.

 _ **Statue of Eros**_ **:** Though Londoners call it Eros, the subject of the Shaftesbury Memorial fountain is more than likely Anteros, who was the brother of Eros and the Greek god of requited love. The Memorial commemorates Lord Shaftesbury, a Victorian-era politician, philanthropist, and social reformer.

"… _ **cemeteries were to be emptied..."**_ **:** By 1780, the cemeteries of the oldest sections of Paris were full to overflowing and burials within the city were forbidden. Eventually in 1785, a decree requiring the removal of all remains was issued and an ossuary ("municipal ossuary"), now called the Paris Catacombs, was created. Disused limestone quarries under the city in the Tombe-Issoire district were renovated and restored so that the remains could be placed there. Today, it is possible to visit a two kilometer section of the catacombs. If you've read _Broken Promise_ , then you might recognize the information in this note.

 **ooooooo**

Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing this for me; remaining mistakes are mine.

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_


	2. Cormoran Strike

**Disclaimer & Spoilers**: See Chapter One.

 **Story/History Notes** **:** These are denoted by an * and explained at the end. At times I did change historical or book-related facts to fit my story, but for these notes, I have made every attempt to get my details correct. If I have incorrectly noted something, please let me know and I will make changes.

 **Trigger Warning** **:** See the very end of the story for a spoilery warning.

 **ooooooo**

 **Chapter Two: March 2010 – Cormoran Strike**

Strike absorbed the impact, heard the surprised grunt, and reacted instinctively. Throwing out a long arm, he seized a fistful of cloth; a second grunt of pain echoed around the stone walls and then, with a wrench and a tussle, he had succeeded in dragging the young man back onto firm ground.

The man was doubled up in pain against the office door. Judging by the way he was hunched, with one hand buried under the lapel of the coat, Strike deduced that he had saved the man by grabbing a substantial amount of his chest hair as well. A thick, dark head of hair hid a good portion of the young man's face, which struck him as familiar, and Athos could see that he was attempting to gain control of the pain. He cursed and apologized, explaining that he had not expected anyone to be there, missing the other man's flinch when his attention was grabbed by the inquiries of the man who inhabited the office below his.

Once he placated the graphic designer from the floor below, Strike ushered the man into his office. After a moment, the young man, who he had hoped might be a new client, slowly straightened up and turned around.

For the first time in nearly 20 years, his eyes met those of his best friend – a friend he'd thought lost to him.

They continued to stare at each other; he noted d'Artagnan's eyes roaming his face, pausing at both the bruised eye and cut eyebrow.

"Ath-Athos?"

He nodded, still disbelieving of the sight before him. "D'Artagnan?"

His long-lost friend also nodded, apparently just as surprised by their unexpected reunion.

Then the younger man blurted out, "I-I'm the temp."

"The what?" he asked, confused by the seeming non sequitur.

"The temp. Robin Ellacott. From Temporary Solutions."

Then, after a beat, d'Artagnan added, "Where the _hell_ have you been?!"

ooooooo

Just like the young man before him, Cormoran Strike knew he would never forget the last twelve hours of his life.

Now it seemed Fate had sent an emissary in a charcoal-grey trench coat to taunt him with the fact that the last twenty years had been an almost unmitigated disaster.

He had absolutely no idea how to sum up the previous 20 years to a friend he hadn't seen in just as long; a friend he had dearly missed having in his life and started to think forever gone from it.

Athos opened his mouth to say something, but no words would issue forth, and he closed his mouth again. He watched as d'Artagnan's hand drifted towards his chest, only to stop midway there and drop back to his side.

All that would come to his mind was the fact that there was not supposed to be a temp. He had intended his dismissal of d'Arta—Robin's predecessor to end his contract. And now, due to an error somewhere along the line – one of many that he'd made the past 20 years – d'Artagnan was here, standing before him, waiting to find out what had happened to make him fall off the face of the earth as far as his three closest friends were concerned.

"Excuse me a moment."

Without explanation, he left the room and turned immediately right, into a tiny, dank toilet. Bolting the door, he stared into the cracked, spotted mirror over the sink, trying to keep the bile creeping up his throat from escaping in a rush. The reflection staring back at him had not changed over the 400 years he'd been alive, except he'd now had added a swelling and blackening eye. Though he was, in reality, much older than he looked, he now felt older than the age his condition had permanently left him.

Plugging the sink, he filled the grubby basin with cold water, took a deep breath and completely submerged his head*.

Displaced water landed on his shoes, but he ignored it, relishing the relief of the moment of icy stillness the practice had once again brought him. However, he was a little surprised that d'Artagnan had not followed him to the toilet.

Despite such a long time passing, d'Artagnan still knew him the best of anyone he'd ever met – a number which was now well beyond his ability to count by this time. His younger brother always knew when to press for answers and when to back off. He was inordinately grateful d'Artagnan still had that gift despite them being separated for so long. The idea was oddly comforting in its way.

Images of the previous night flickered through his mind: hurriedly putting some of his possessions in a kit bag while Charlotte screamed at him; the small vase he'd always hated catching him on the brow bone as he'd looked back at her from the door; and the journey across town to his office where he'd managed a couple of hours of sleep at his desk.

Then a new set of images flashed through his mind as he emerged from the cold water with a gasp. As he dried his face with the scratchy towel, he remembered what had brought him to this next turning point in his too-long life.

When d'Artagnan left to visit Constance's grave, Athos had genuinely thought his friend to be in a good frame of mind, one that would be able to deal with the resurgence of grief that always occurred. However, after two days without word from his friend, Athos was more than worried that something had happened to d'Artagnan.

He tried calling the hotel d'Artagnan was staying at, his distracted worry causing him to use the wrong name at first, but his friend had not been in. After two more attempts to reach the younger man, he could tell that he was annoying whoever was on front desk duty at the time to the point where they may not be helpful in the future. As a precaution, he even tried calling some of the other hotels, but none had seen anyone answering to d'Artagnan's description or name.

He'd considered attempting to contact Porthos and Aramis for help, but had no idea where to begin in order to reach them. In the end, Athos had decided to err on the side of caution and go after d'Artagnan before something actually did happen to his friend.

Hastily, he'd packed a bag with enough clothes and toiletries for him to get by for two to three days. Hopefully, he wouldn't need that long to find d'Artagnan and convince the younger man to return home with him. A sense of foreboding had filled his mind, and Athos very suddenly did not like the idea of the two of them being separated by such a distance, despite recently believing that a small break from each other's company might be good for them.

He'd bypassed the lift, sprinted down the stairs, and out of his building. In his haste to cross the street, he never saw the bus that hit him.

Even with all of his deaths and resurrections, waking up in the cold drawer of a mortuary was still a terrifying novelty for him. By now, too many people who knew his current name had seen him dead, but at the moment all he cared about was getting to d'Artagnan.

By the time he arrived, Athos knew he was already far too late.

When he'd heard the news about the train wreck, a cold chill ran down his spine; he had the feeling that d'Artagnan had been on that doomed train. When he saw the list of casualties, he could only hope d'Artagnan's death had not been too painful this time around. At least they could both start their new lives together at the same time.

It took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that d'Artagnan might be trying to get in touch with him as well. Tying – and failing.

Athos carefully backtracked towards his previous home, avoiding anyone who might recognize him as a dead man walking, but could not find d'Artagnan anywhere. He'd broken into his own flat using a hidden key, and grabbed his emergency bag, which contained some clothes, money, and other necessities required to start a new life.

If it wasn't already, the money he had in the local bank was inaccessible due to his "death." He would have to make do with what he had in his bag until he either got a job or made his way to one of the banks in Switzerland where he kept some of his funds.

His first priority, after trying to locate d'Artagnan, was to get himself a new identity.

But he never did find his best friend.

There had been no trace of the younger man anywhere; no clues to where d'Artagnan had gone or what new name the man might currently be living under.

His brother had vanished, and being unable to get in touch with Aramis and Porthos, he was resigned to the fact that he would be living his new life alone.

Or so he thought.

ooooooo

The first time he saw Charlotte*, she was sitting alone on a windowsill at a party in Oxford a few years after he'd lost touch with his friends.

At the first sight of her dark hair and beautiful face, he'd thought it was the ghost of his dead wife, Anne, come back to haunt him. That idea was immediately put to rest when he spied the woman's neck – it was free of the scars his hangman's noose had left behind on her throat.

Despite his better judgment, he went over to her, heedless of his friend's warning that he was too drunk. He downed the dregs of his seventh pint, and strode over towards where the woman with the too-familiar face sat.

He was aware of the people watching, waiting to see what happened but didn't care.

Spotting a curry stain on his shirt, he'd asked her if she knew how to get it out. That had sparked her laughter and led them to continue conversing.

When he'd finally noticed the color of her eyes – green just like his wife's had been…

When he'd learned her name – Charlotte…

 _While his wife, Anne, was locked up awaiting justice, Athos had finally consented to listen to what the murderess had to say about her crime; she'd told him everything about her past._

 _He suspected it wasn't everything; it was likely only as much as the woman dared to share with him about her previous life in order to avoid any more charges of wrongdoing. One of the more important things that he had learned was the real name Anne had been christened with – Charlotte*._

…So when the beautiful woman who looked like Anne had told him her name, he should have gone running as far away from her as possible, but he hadn't.

Instead, lonely and uncertain about what he wanted out of his current life, he'd quickly fallen under Charlotte's spell – just as he'd fallen under Anne's more than 300 years prior.

Sometime later, when they had been in deep conversation, her boyfriend, Jago Ross had entered the room. The man had tried to get Charlotte to leave with him, but she publically dumped Jago instead.

It had been one of the better moments of his long life when a woman he'd known was beyond his league chose him instead. As it had been with Anne, he'd made one of the most momentous mistakes of his life and allowed himself to be ensnared by a woman he'd just met. Months after meeting her, he'd learned that Charlotte had been using him to get back at Ross for some transgression or other.

That first night, everything that had subsequently broken them apart and brought them back together had been there, right in front of him. If only he had opened his eyes and seen the woman for who she was – another Anne, a woman whose only fun to be had in life was to manipulate people for her own amusement and gain.

Over the following years, they'd broken up and gotten back together many times.

During one break-up, he'd joined the military, eventually enjoying a career in the Special Investigation Branch of the Royal Military Police.

Then Afghanistan had come and the IED which had cost him his most recent military career.

He'd unfortunately not died that time and was stuck for the rest of this current lifetime with a right leg whose ankle had lost most of its function*. If so many people hadn't been aware of just how bad his leg was, he'd have killed himself simply to have full use of it again.

It was the one strange gift of their condition: with each resurrection, their bodies reset to the day that they had forever changed and became immortal.

Oddly enough, he'd learned to live with the disability with the help of Charlotte, who had come to visit him in the hospital. She'd helped him through rehab and invited him to move in with her after they'd once again rekindled their relationship. As ever, things had been rocky between them.

And then there had been that final lie*; the wake-up call he'd wished he'd gotten many years ago.

She had told him something that he knew was impossible to be true. He knew she was using the lie to manipulate him yet again. Charlotte always wanted to be the center of his attention, instead of having to share it with his fledgling detective business. She had also always managed to repeatedly distract him from searching for his brothers with some crisis or another. His ex-fiancée, like Anne, was at her core a virus that could not be shaken, but that final lie had broken his trust in her forever.

So he'd left, having finally realized that he needed to get out of the relationship while he still could.

She'd managed to track him down and filled his office with her poisonous barbs, only to attempt to claw at his face before running out the door.

In a moment of utter madness, he'd gone after Charlotte – a pursuit which had ended as quickly as it had begun with the unwitting intervention of his long-lost, much-missed friend, whom he'd been forced to save, and now had to explain what had happened. He'd never been happier that Temporary Solutions had forced him to abandon the chase. There was no going back to that woman; this time, it was irrevocably over.

Exiting the toilet, he went back through the glass door and back into his office. D'Artagnan had his back to the door; he whipped his hand back out of the front of his coat as Athos re-entered the room.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Listen, if you don't want me around, I can go," said d'Artagnan with an attempt at dignity.

"No! Please stay," Athos said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "In fact, feel free to never leave again."

D'Artagnan grinned, stepped forward, and threw his arms around him. The younger man hugged him so tight, Athos suspected that his brother was afraid to let him go.

He returned the hug just as fiercely, also afraid to lose his friend so soon after finding him again.

"So, Cormoran," d'Artagnan said. "Cormoran…Strike."—He paused as if contemplating something—"Lose a bet?"

D'Artagnan tried and failed to suppress a wide grin, which Athos couldn't help but return.

"I was just about to ask the same thing…Robin."

ooooooo

 _The end._

 **ooooooo**

 **Story/History Notes** **:**

"… _ **submerged his head."**_ **:** This really does happen in Part 1, Chapter 2 (page 17 of the U.S. edition) of _The Cuckoo's Calling_. This scene made me realize that Tom Burke was meant to play the role of Cormoran Strike. What are the odds that two characters played by the same actor would do the same action? I can't tell you how much I'm hoping this scene makes it into the TV series.

" _ **The first time he saw Charlotte…"**_ **:** This meeting is described in more detail beginning on page 218 (U.S. edition) of Part 3, Chapter 3 of _The Cuckoo's Calling_.

" _ **The name Anne had … was Charlotte"**_ **:** In Chapter 54 (Third Day of Captivity/Troisième Journée de Captivité) of _The Three Musketeers/Les Trois Mousquetaires_ by Alexandre Dumas, it is revealed that one of Milady de Winter's other aliases is Charlotte Backson. Fun fact: the actress who played Anne/Milady in The Musketeers and the Charlotte in the Cormoran Strike books do indeed share the same eye color.

"… _ **right leg whose ankle had lost most of its function."**_ **:** This is not what happens to Strike in the book. I had to alter this detail in order for my Immortals AU and the Cormoran Strike novels to mesh together. In the books, Strike's right leg below the knee had to be amputated due to that IED explosion.

"… _ **that final lie."**_ **:** You'll have to read the book to know what that was. I didn't want to spoil it for those who might still want to read the novels.

 **ooooooo**

 **A/N:** This story was only ever meant to be a retelling of the first two chapters of part one of _The Cuckoo's Calling_ set in my Immortals AU. As of this posting, I have no intention of reworking the rest of the novel with my version of the characters.

Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for proofing this for me; remaining mistakes are mine.

 _ **Thanks for reading!**_

 **ooooooo**

 **Trigger Warning** **:** (Spoilers) One of the characters – who is immortal – mentions killing himself so he wouldn't have to live with an injury that would go away when he came back to life. Only a brief thought; no action is taken.


End file.
